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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24902038">Partiality Paradox</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka'>Nyanoka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword &amp; Shield | Pokemon Sword &amp; Shield Versions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon ages, Changing Tenses, Character Study, Creampie, Human/Pokemon Relationship(s), Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, Knotting, M/M, Melancholy, Mild Inflation, Non-Human Genitalia, Outdoor Sex, Rimming, Sloppy Seconds, Spit Kink, Spitroasting, Stream of Consciousness, Threesome - M/M/M, breath kink, mild teeth kink, mild voyeurism kink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 07:28:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,534</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24902038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It is human nature to want more.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zacian/Masaru | Victor, Zamazenta/Masaru | Victor, Zamazenta/Masaru | Victor/Zacian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Flux</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It's starting to become a trend that I do a Pokemon/Human fic after every Piers/Victor longfic...unfortunate...</p><p>Though, I don't mind writing this. I think Zamazenta/Victor is cute after all (since I have a major Shield bias). That's not the problem. I'm just usually sapped creativity-wise, and these usually end up way below my standards because it takes like a month of writing to make a longfic+the sex scene in the last one was 4700+ words...</p><p>I also realize that Zacian is described as Zamazenta's sister in the pokedex entries, but honestly, I just didn't want to spend another hour trying to figure out how that works in the context of this fic. Already spent like 4 hours on and off over the course of nights trying to think it through since I use bedtime to plan writing. Like...both of them are incredibly heavy Pokemon and it's like...oh yeah, I can't think of a way that wouldn't end badly (or kinda boring) if it was F&lt;--M&lt;--M in terms of equipment. I also didn't want to peruse a bunch of textbooks for it so...M/M/M it is again. I spent an inordinate amount of time considering everything and it's like...enough...I also considered which pronouns to use, but I settled on he/him for simplicity's sake since my head hurts from overthinking everything. There was too much thought given to this, and it's unfortunate...</p><p>All chapters are done and will be posted every 1-3 days. Originally, I wasn't going to cut this into chapters, but I hated the formatting otherwise...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He will never tell Hop about this.</p><p>Perhaps it makes him a bad friend—lying isn’t acceptable in most circumstances, especially between best friends—but Victor doesn’t think Hop would <em>want</em> to know anyhow.</p><p>That is what he tells himself anyway.</p><p>But still, it, his reason for borrowing Zacian, isn’t a lie exactly—he does use Zacian in some of his matches, and Zamazenta does get lonely without his older brother from time to time—but it isn’t entirely truthful either.</p><p>Victor only tells Hop half of the truth. He needs Zacian for training, for matches, every other conceivable reason under the sun besides the truth—the other half of it anyhow.</p><p>Victor doesn’t tell him about the sex.</p><p>It isn’t weird to fuck a Pokémon—he’s fairly certain a decent number of the Trainers he’s met so far do as well—but it is weird to fuck two, and siblings at that. One of them isn’t even his own Pokémon.</p><p>There isn’t anything weird—wrong—about it, he thinks. He doesn’t force them to do anything—he doesn’t think he would be able to anyway even with his status as Zamazenta’s Trainer; they’re both rather willful beings—and they don’t force anything onto him.</p><p>Instead, they’re <em>nice</em>, welcomingly so.</p><p>Victor has never been particularly sociable or remarkable—too shy, too morose, and too bland in appearance: dark brown hair matching similarly colored eyes and attire neither noticeably expensive nor noticeably shabby.</p><p>He wasn’t bullied. There hadn’t been anything distinguishable enough about him in the first place to warrant such treatment: no distinctive scars or birthmarks, no scandalous relatives or relations, nothing of interest for the rest of Postwick’s children to latch onto as the young are wont to do.</p><p>He hadn’t been ignored, intentionally so anyhow. He isn’t interesting enough for that—neither overly nice, easy enough for others to take advantage of, nor overly mean, brusque and brutish to the point of eliciting dislike.</p><p>No childish grudges, deserved or otherwise, and nothing akin to excessive adoration, phony or otherwise.</p><p>He couldn’t even be called average—at his age, what child only has one friend of note?—but he couldn’t be called abnormal either. He isn’t hated or beloved enough for that.</p><p>Instead, he is stuck in-between—an anomaly—and that is worse, cutting more than any insult ever could.</p><p>It isn’t like he <em>hasn’t</em> tried making friends before, but like with the majority of his attempts, they had ended in inconclusiveness—not quite success, not quite failure. The other children hadn’t denied him or accepted him in definite terms: no explicit affirmation, cheery greetings and invitations, or explicit denial, irritated rejection and avoidance.</p><p>Instead, he had been an afterthought.</p><p>His mother had tried to help him of course. No mother wants to see their child alone—or near-alone anyhow—and as most mothers would and do, she had taken it upon herself to help him.</p><p>Wheedled birthday invitations from other parents in return for freshly baked bread and fresh fruit, awkward playdates in return for another favor or a one-off discount on their produce and milk, and so forth.</p><p>Awful and embarrassing.</p><p>That had been his opinion on the matter. No child wants to be coddled—pitied—in that manner, and Victor had been no different.</p><p>Children aren’t the most observant or knowledgeable of individuals at times, but they aren’t foolish, entirely so anyhow.</p><p>As a result, he had retreated into his books and to the safety of his mother’s Pokémon—lazy Munchlax, her trio of Budew, and an oft busy Herdier and Stoutland duo.</p><p>It is easy enough to avoid implicit rejection when there is no chance of rejection. Characters couldn’t say “no”—couldn’t ignore him in half-words and parent-mandated niceness—and his mother’s Pokémon have been with him since birth.</p><p>They know him well enough, tolerate him well enough, a consequence of circumstance, but much like with his books—they couldn’t say “yes” either—it isn’t the same as being accepted, fully accepted.</p><p>It isn’t in the way he wants.</p><p>Certainly, he has Hop, but perhaps that had made everything worser still.</p><p>It isn’t that he dislikes Hop—he appreciates him in his entirety and for everything—but that, fondness, is what makes it worse.</p><p>To know kindness and acceptance is to want more.</p><p>He wants more and that tears at his heart in a way that loneliness, isolation rather, couldn’t.</p><p>Furthermore, Hop has his own life and his own motivations. He couldn’t monopolize his attention. He doesn’t <em>want </em>to be overly needy, weird and strange and awkward beyond belief. He doesn’t want to do that to his only friend, the only one his own age who looks at him.</p><p>Victor doesn’t think he could keep up anyway. Unlike him, Hop knows what he wants from life, bounds ahead with a certainty Victor couldn’t ever hope to replicate.</p><p>Hop doesn’t lag behind, footsteps soft—meaningless and soundless—and second-guessed.</p><p>He isn’t aimless—weird and strange and awkward in a way that neither draws attention nor discourages it—and he isn’t someone stuck in the in-between, neither love nor hate.</p><p>He is loved, not an afterthought cared for only by a mother and her small rabble of companions.</p><p>An older brother who adores him, parents who love him, and friends—<em>other</em> friends—who admire him.</p><p>Brilliant and shining and wholly unique—not someone more fit for a stage’s backdrop than for life—that is who Hop is.</p><p>Perhaps it makes him envious—he is—but it is only natural to do so.</p><p>To think otherwise would make him more of an anomaly than he already is.</p><p>It is natural for one to want, especially after experiencing humanity in its fullness—connections and friendship and love in their entireties.</p><p>He wants to be accepted, not because of prior connections but because of who he is, and to monopolize—to be as loved as dearly, to be the center of someone’s, <em>anyone’s</em>, world.</p><p>Thus, it only makes sense that he had been thrilled when he had received his starter.</p><p>Despite its status as a gift, he knows that that doesn’t necessarily guarantee acceptance.</p><p>He knows that well enough from the numerous events that he has been to—birthdays spent awkwardly waiting for Hop to take him by the hand and forward into the crowd, trips into town with faces he only knows by visage and name rather than anything deeper, and so forth.</p><p>It isn’t enough to be invited or to be simply given something.</p><p>Perhaps it is a consequence of his personality—shy and wispy as a green elm’s branch in an autumn storm—but he doesn’t pick Scorbunny or Sobble.</p><p>Too energetic, charming, and too needy, wanting, respectively.</p><p>It is a rather odd reasoning—shouldn’t he want to be needed?—but it is one that digs into his heart, like cypress roots digging into the foundation of a house.</p><p>They remind him too much of Hop and himself.</p><p>Objectively bizarre, but for that reason alone, he doesn’t choose them.</p><p>Instead, he takes the in-between—the one closest to him yet the farthest.</p><p>Laidback and not particularly difficult to care for—as characteristic of most Grass Starters—Grookey is his choice.</p><p>Afterwards, he doesn’t expect to win—he isn’t zealous about battling like Hop, and he doesn’t have any practical experience—but much to his surprise, he does.</p><p>Though, it doesn’t quite give him a purpose, not in the personal sense of the word.</p><p>Instead, he follows along after Hop, rushing after dreams he isn’t quite certain of. They aren’t his, but he follows anyway—footsteps awkward and soft as always.</p><p>He isn’t someone that most would willingly support then.</p><p>He isn’t brilliant enough by himself to be considered a first pick, not even as a joke. Even his first fan had only appeared after his victory over Milo.</p><p>Though, he hadn’t quite minded as much as he should—more thrilled by Grookey’s growing fondness for him than anything else.</p><p>He wouldn’t have been able to accept apathy.</p><p>Victory after victory—flawless in execution and entirely surprising coming from him—but he doesn’t quite care about that.</p><p>He cares more for his then growing motley of companions than for anything else.</p><p>Even after his triumph over Leon, the attention still isn’t quite what he wants.</p><p>He isn’t <em>seen</em>, admired for who he is rather than for some kitschy imitation of him: indomitable, stoic, and quiet.</p><p>It isn’t that Victor isn’t—he has difficulty with articulating his thoughts, and he hasn’t grown completely pass his own shyness—but it isn’t him in his entirety, nothing comparable to the multitudes, yearnings and thoughts and inclinations, that encompass his being.</p><p>Thus, he doesn’t quite enjoy the attention as much as he should.</p><p>None of it is directed towards him, not to who he truly is.</p><p>But still, it is human to want more, and thus, he finds himself seeking more, wanting more.</p><p>Familial affection and admiration, albeit distorted, aren’t quite enough.</p><p>Perhaps that is why he had accepted Zamazenta’s affection so readily.</p><p>He doesn’t know when it, everything involving them, had begun. No, that isn’t quite right. He knows the physicality of everything and the beginning—their first meeting had been in the Slumbering Weald, and first meetings are always an important thing to remember—but he doesn’t know the reason for everything, for both fondness and for everything after, the things that couldn’t merely be considered platonic.</p><p>He knows the reason for their first meeting—once again, he could attribute that to Hop and his firm sense of justice—but he doesn’t know the reason for everything after, everything pass the platonic.</p><p>He understands respect by itself, and he understands tolerance, but he doesn’t understand fascination for the mere sake of it.</p><p>Despite everything thus far, he isn’t the most interesting sort of person—too plain in appearance, too awkward in demeanor, and so forth.</p><p>He isn’t quite like the people around him, but he isn’t unique. Instead, he is more akin to the backdrop, more fit for a crowd of nameless and perhaps forgettable faces with voices indistinguishable from that of the whizz of passing cars and the chitter of blinking stoplights.</p><p>Bland and forgettable with nothing particularly interesting about him himself. Everything that could be considered noteworthy—bedazzling and enticing and exciting—belongs to someone else.</p><p>In his opinion, it would not be erroneous to say that his most interesting characteristic is those he surrounds himself with—performers, shining stars, and people with aspirations—than him himself.</p><p>Despite everything, he doesn’t know what he wants, nothing outside of want itself but that isn’t a goal—a sustainable one anyhow.</p><p>But still, he is, at the very least, certain of one matter.</p><p>He doesn’t mind Zamazenta’s affection, as sudden as it had been, nor does he minds Zacian’s.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ebb</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It is human nature to want more.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A bit short, but this fic was originally supposed to be just one piece and all. Just know the actual sex scene is like 3600+ words according to my word count. A bit exciting to put it out in a few days, but I'm always excited about committing literary crimes against humanity.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A kiss in the privacy of his room.</p><p>That had been the invitation for everything after.</p><p>His mother had been out tending to the garden then, and he remembers the buzz of the television, some cartoon he had put on more for noise than because of any genuine interest, and the feeling of fur against his back.</p><p>It isn’t the most noble of positions—a makeshift pillow isn’t the most befitting of statuses for one of Galar’s heroes—but Zamazenta hadn’t complained.</p><p>There hadn’t been anything particular—anything special—about that day either, nothing that would allude to an essential confession. He assumes it had been a confession anyhow. What else could it have it been? Zamazenta doesn’t speak, and from what he has seen, Yamper doesn’t act that way towards Sonia. <em>Most Pokémon</em> don’t act that way towards their Trainers.</p><p>Undoubtedly, there had been the light bop of a wet nose against his cheek and a slight noise, low and rumbling but nowhere near describable as aggressive.</p><p>Those actions had been describable as platonic, both attempts to garner his attention, but the tongue, thick and wide and long, that had pressed against his mouth when he had turned hadn’t.</p><p>It could have been described as a dog’s kiss, affectionate but meaning nothing more, if it hadn’t been for the motion itself—tongue pushing pass his lips, intentional and self-assured yet careful as not to injure.</p><p>He had been able to smell the mint then, a consequence of the toothpaste he uses to brush Zamazenta’s teeth. Perhaps that is a strange thing to remember—it is a rather inconsequential detail to notice—but alongside the breath itself, hot and heady, it is one of the things he remembers most about the occasion.</p><p>When Zamazenta had withdrawn, there had been no apologies, no halfhearted whines or anything of that sort. Instead, his gaze had been expectant, firm and anticipant of confirmation or rejection—no in-betweens.</p><p>Perhaps he shouldn’t have then, but he had found himself leaning forward, hands moving to grip tightly at fur and mouth pressing against a soft muzzle.</p><p>It isn’t a rough sort of kiss. Much like before, he feels a tongue slip into his mouth, careful as to avoid piercing with the canines and incisors, and a wetness slide against his teeth, the walls of his cheeks, and at his own tongue.</p><p>It hadn’t been as quick as the one before it, but it hadn’t been as long as he would have liked, stopped short by the click of a turning doorknob, the front door’s.</p><p>It had been his first, second if he wishes to be more accurate, kiss, though it isn’t exactly mundane in form—no childhood friends, no boys or girls, not even a human. It isn’t quite like the movies he’s taken to watching with Marnie.</p><p>He still doesn’t think there’s anything weird about it—about want and about affection—but he doesn’t tell anyone either.</p><p>Not any of his friends, not any of the adults around him, and certainly not his mother.</p><p>Despite his own secrecy, however, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he only finds everything escalating—messy kisses turning into groping hands grabbing at fur and an inhuman tongue trailing underneath his clothes and elsewhere: upon his hair, upon his skin, and eventually, upon his cock.</p><p>He isn’t stupid enough to continue everything at home—his room doesn’t even have a door let alone a lock—but he doesn’t try anything in the more secluded parts of the Wild Area either.</p><p>Just like with most of Galar’s routes, there are simply too many people roaming about.</p><p>Thus, they take to the innermost depths of the Slumbering Weald.</p><p>It isn’t the most ideal of locations for their endeavors—too much dirt and grass for that particular classification—but at the very least, there aren’t as many prying eyes.</p><p>It isn’t weird, he thinks. He simply isn’t the most public of figures.</p><p>Nonetheless, much like with Zamazenta and their first meeting, the Slumbering Weald is where everything begins with Zacian as well.</p><p>It hadn’t been an intentional sort of thing—he doesn’t go around seducing Pokémon—but he hadn’t rejected Zacian either.</p><p>He simply hadn’t anticipated  everything—the telltale sound of a releasing Poké Ball, the light thump of Zacian appearing, and the distinctive howl, slightly higher pitched than his brother’s—and Zamazenta hadn’t either.</p><p>The awkward, almost embarrassed, shuffling of his partner had been proof enough of that.</p><p>Really, he hadn’t known what to expect then. The gaze had been rather intense, inscrutable even, and the ensuing silence had given him pause, wariness only increasing when Zacian had begun moving forward, gait easy and even despite his own tenseness.</p><p>He hadn’t expected to be hurt—he knows Zamazenta wouldn’t have allowed that despite his familial relationship with Zacian, and Zacian himself isn’t malevolent—but he hadn’t been prepared for the tongue pushing against and into his mouth.</p><p>Aggressive—just barely careful enough to avoid injuring with the teeth—and overly sure, that is how he would describe it. It isn’t quite like kissing Zamazenta. There is the same confidence naturally and the same feeling of fur brushing against his skin, but it isn’t the same—tongue wetter, more forceful, and longer than his brother’s, pushing nearly into his throat and causing his eyes to water.</p><p>It makes him strange perhaps, but he hadn’t minded as much as he should—panting, teary-eyed, and trembling as he had been when Zacian had finished, tongue lolling before withdrawing back into a pale muzzle and eyes just as expectant as Zamazenta’s had been.</p><p>Perhaps he shouldn’t have agreed—it had been rather greedy of him—but it isn’t like Zamazenta had minded all too much then, embarrassment having dissipated and transformed into a light annoyance, the irritation of a sibling forced to share rather than any true resentment.</p><p>Nonetheless, he had accepted Zacian’s affection readily enough—hands moving to cup a distinctly nonhuman face before pressing a kiss to a furred snout. Much like before, he feels a wet tongue slip into his mouth, enthusiastic and near-nipping with the incisors, and unlike with before, he eventually feels another tongue, Zamazenta’s, lick at his cheek before trailing downward to his neck and collarbone.</p><p>It isn’t wrong to want more even if it does make him greedy, envious even.</p><p>As foolish—human—as the sentiment is, he couldn’t quite help but want more.</p><p>It is something that Hop could—would—never have.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah...Victor's weird, and I don't think Hop wants that...but yeah...I think protagonists with strange viewpoints are more interesting than ones that are traditionally "heroic" (or ya know, not doing whatever Victor's doing).</p><p>I did decide on my next project though! The one I'm gonna be working on. It's Marnie/Piers/Victor. Hopefully I can finish it quickly since I'm trying to speed up my writing time instead of overthink (this Zacian/Victor/Zamazenta fic took me like 2 weeks because I was pushing around ideas and going "how does that work?")...still in a writing rut though and haven't returned to my standards...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Flow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It is human nature to want more.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ah...I assume this is the "novelty" chapter that most people want.</p><p>Honestly...I do love mixing in a bizarre amount of thought with sensuality...it makes my tags thematically clashing though...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No matter how much they visit, the Slumbering Weald never quite becomes any more comfortable.</p><p>Too much dirt, too much grass, and even the altar itself isn’t all too comfortable—gray stone cold and hard against his skin—but it is, at the very least, better than simple ground. He doesn’t particularly like the feeling of dust and mud on his thighs and back or the rough texture of pebbles digging into his skin.</p><p>Perhaps it makes him overly selective all things considering—Zamazenta and Zacian aren’t especially bothered by everything, and he does want privacy—but it is a consequence of his nature and the nature of his era.</p><p>Soft beds with cotton sheets and fluff-filled pillows instead of rough linen and scratchy straw mattresses alongside comforts such as running water and refrigeration.</p><p>Despite his travels across Galar, he isn’t used to this sort of thing. Even when he sleeps outdoors—ceiling made of and lit by stars instead of white paint and drywall—he still has his tent and sleeping bag. He isn’t entirely bereft of comfort like he is now—skin bare with clothes folded and set neatly on top of one of the altar’s pillars alongside his backpack and with he lying upon his back, cool stone pressing against soft flesh. Outside of the lotion bottle set within arm’s reach nearby, he doesn’t have all too much in terms of modern comforts.</p><p>Nonetheless, the lack of comfort isn’t quite enough of a discomfort for him to stop.</p><p>Instead, he only finds himself spreading his legs further, body shivering, as he feels a wet nose press against his balls, pushing at the crease with breath tickling, before trailing downward to his ass as a tongue flicks at his opening, tip pushing inward slightly before withdrawing. Naturally, he wants to push forward, force the tongue further in, but he doesn’t. He only shivers once more, pale thighs trembling and perspiration—anticipation—already forming upon the back of his neck and the palms of his hands.</p><p>He knows Zamazenta’s inclinations well enough at this point. Eagerness would only draw everything out. Unlike Zacian, Zamazenta has a playful streak, overly teasing and coy at times rather than the straightforwardness of his brother.</p><p>It isn’t that he dislikes it—there is an appeal to playfulness he thinks—but he doesn’t want to wait today.</p><p>Not with Zacian with them.</p><p>Another prod against his ass, still not quite entering entirely, and Victor feels a warm wetness, Zacian’s tongue, slide against his forehead, ruffling and wetting his hair, before moving downward, roughness tickling his skin—he still isn’t used to the difference between the texture of it and his own tongue’s—and saliva dripping into his hair.</p><p>Wet, wet, wet—Zacian’s kisses are always wet, wetter than Zamazenta’s and tinged with an impatient fervor rather than mischievous softness, though they aren’t unpleasant.</p><p>Rather, he would simply describe them as different, eliciting the same sense of pleasure yet in differing manners—rowdy versus collected, zeal versus mischief, and so forth.</p><p>They aren’t quite the same despite the similarities of their forms and their blood relation.</p><p>Though, his opinion on the subject doesn’t quite matter—not now anyhow, not when he feels Zacian’s tongue push against and pass his lips, spit intermingling with his own.</p><p>Teeth bumping against his and fine, short hair brushing against his chin and cheeks, it isn’t the most conventional of kisses—outside of the teeth and fur, Zacian’s breath runs too hotly to be mistaken for a human’s—even as he brings up his hands to once again cup Zacian’s face in an imitation of the couples he sees around Galar and on the movie theater screens.</p><p>A noise leave his mouth, half-muffled and nearly choking with spit dribbling from the corners of his lips, as he feels Zacian’s tongue push further in, not quite as rough as their first kiss but not entirely describable as gentle, and as Zamazenta once again pushes his nose against his ass before coating it further in spit, breath equally warm as his brother’s.</p><p>It isn’t all too comfortable, a consequence of his impatience rather than anything truly irritating or abhorrent, but at the very least, he feels the same thrum of agitation from his partners. The tenseness underneath his fingertips as his nails dig into Zacian’s muzzle and the slight shake he feels as Zamazenta brushes against his ass are both proof enough.</p><p>It wouldn’t be all too long before they fuck him today.</p><p>Another noise leaves him, chest heaving for air, as Zacian finishes, tongue leaving his mouth and incisors scarcely nipping his lip. It isn’t enough to permanently scar, but he tastes a faint hint of blood—metallic and unlike the now familiar taste of his partner’s saliva—as his hands come to rest upon the stone once more.</p><p>Zacian once again licks his cheek, a brief apology, before he feels his tongue trail further down—cheek to mouth, wet roughness lapping up stray saliva and sweat, before moving to the chin and then to the neck and then the jutting collarbone.</p><p>It isn’t quite a nip—more of a brief touch than anything—as Victor feels the tip of Zacian’s teeth upon the thinly covered bone, body shivering instinctively at the touch and because of his own exertion.</p><p>He feels Zacian withdraw once more, tongue still upon his body but teeth leaving, before continuing downward once more.</p><p>He couldn’t quite help but squirm when he feels—sees with the barest glance—Zacian’s tongue push against his right nipple, already perked and hard because of the cool air and their activities, before it, long and pink and rough, begins lapping at the dark nub and the skin around it, rhythm even and somewhat slow rather than the impatience he has come to expect.</p><p>Another lick, tongue swirling around his nipple and teeth touching the sensitive flesh, before Zacian trails his tongue to his other nipple, saliva covering his chest and dripping down to his sides. Much like before, Victor feels the same enthusiasm—wet and prickling as Zacian’s tongue moves against his nipple, tip pushing against the slit before swirling once more and wetting the areola. Briefly, he feels Zacian’s tongue lift and one of his teeth—one of the canines—press lightly against the bud, careful as to avoid damaging the skin, before leaving, tongue soon returning to lap at reddening flesh.</p><p>Alongside the sensation on his nipple and chest—warm tongue still licking and the draping fur of Zacian’s body—he feels Zamazenta’s tongue once again push against his opening. However, rather than immediately withdrawing, Victor feels it push in deeper, spit soaking his walls and probing. Zamazenta’s tongue doesn’t go quite as deep as he would like it to go—it’s not as thick as his cock either—but a moan, high and whining, leaves his lips anyhow.</p><p>Noisy, he’s noisy when he, nails scraping against stone and back arching, pushes back against Zamazenta’s tongue and against the fur of his muzzle—hair rubbing against smooth skin and his partner’s agitated panting only exciting him further.</p><p>He already knows that he’s hard. There’s a familiar warmth within his stomach, coiling and tightening, and upon his inner thighs and crotch—pre-cum already leaking and dripping onto sweaty flesh.</p><p>It isn’t weird. It’s normal to want things, especially things that feel good. That is what he thinks anyhow.</p><p>Zacian licks his nipple once more before carefully moving forward—forelegs coming to straddle his hips and hind legs bestride his head—as he feels his tongue move further down his chest, to his stomach, idly dipping into his navel, and settling in the spot just above his cock.</p><p>With their current position, it is easy enough to notice Zacian’s erection—thick cock fully unsheathed and swaying slightly with each of his movements and red, tapered tip dripping warm pre-cum onto his already soaked chest and nipples.</p><p>He couldn’t quite help the noise, soft and gasping, that leaves his mouth when he feels Zacian’s tongue press against the base of his cock before moving upward to lick at the head, motion steady and quick. Alongside the tongue in his ass, wriggling and still probing, intentionally languid; the smell, salt and dirt mixed with the distinctive smell of sex; and the cock dangling in front of his face, he couldn’t quite concentrate.</p><p>Leaning upward—he’s thankful that Zacian had decided to squat, just enough for him to feel the light caress of fur and not his full weight—Victor wraps his hands around the cock, fingers pale against the red, and presses his tongue against the underside.</p><p>His hands couldn’t wrap entirely around it, but he hears an appreciative huff from Zacian anyhow—hot breath pleasant upon his cock as his tongue presses against the slit, lapping up pre-cum, before slathering his cock and balls further in spit.</p><p>His motions aren’t all too even either—too jerky and uneven—but he couldn’t help it all too much, not with the sensations upon his groin and inside his ass. It’s still too difficult to concentrate, especially when he feels Zamazenta’s tongue press against his prostate, eliciting another lurch and more pre-cum to leak from his cock and into Zacian’s mouth.</p><p>At the very least, however, it’s easy enough to move his hands, fingers pressing lightly into the flesh and motions aided by the slickness of his own saliva as he presses his face against the underside of Zacian’s cock, small tongue lapping and teeth lightly grazing at both the length and the bulge of the knot.</p><p>Wet, salty, and sticky.</p><p>That is what he feels upon his hands, what he tastes upon his tongue, and what he smells, nose and cheek pressed against heated flesh and he shallowly breathing.</p><p>A moan leaves him, mouth still pressed against Zacian’s cock, when Zamazenta once again pushes against his prostrate—thick, rough tongue rubbing against the area rather than withdrawing—and as Zacian’s tongue wraps around his small cock.</p><p>Another drop of pre-cum spills upon chest, and a warm tongue presses against the slit of his cock, and Victor finds himself cumming—noisy and hands still moving even as he eventually finishes, orgasm subsiding.</p><p>Though, they aren’t quite done yet even as Zacian carefully pulls away—warm cock leaving his hands and fluid dripping further onto his skin and the stone below—and as Zamazenta withdraws his tongue, noise squelching, before they both move beside him, gazes expectant and impatience obvious.</p><p>Perhaps it should make him feel embarrassed when he grabs the nearby lotion bottle, pops the cap, and slathers his hand in it—white goo odorless and cool upon his palm—but it doesn’t.</p><p>Not with how they look at him and not with the way Zacian licks his muzzle, cum still speckled in the fur.</p><p>They’ve done this enough times already, enough for him to know that he prefers this over simply just spit. That had hurt well enough—halted their activities too then— and he hadn’t liked the awkward excuses that had come afterwards to explain his limp.</p><p>Furthermore, he <em>likes</em> it when they look at him, expectant and intent on only him.</p><p>Lifting himself up slightly, Victor slides his fingers into his ass, digits slipping in easily enough because of the looseness and spit, fluid dripping around his fingers and onto the floor below.</p><p>His fingers aren’t as quite as good as Zamazenta’s tongue or their cocks. They’re too small, slender, even as he pushes them—index, middle, and ring—up to the knuckles and begins spreading himself, lotion cool against his inner walls and more intent on preparing himself than for any show or self-pleasure.</p><p>Perhaps it is impatient of him—he usually wouldn’t move so quickly—but he doesn’t quite want to wait today.</p><p>But still, he doesn’t quite dislike it, not when he sees their gazes upon him, the wag of a tail, and the tongue that lolls out—licking before withdrawing.</p><p>Instead, it leaves him panting again, cock hardening once more.</p><p>He pushes inward with his fingers again, spreading and scissoring, before he finally finishes, digits wet with both saliva and leftover lotion.</p><p>It doesn’t take long before he feels a tapered cock, Zacian’s, jab at his ass a few times before immediately pushing in, overly impatient and drawing a shrill whine from him as his ass molds around it.</p><p>Though, he doesn’t quite mind the lack of warning, not with how it makes him feel—full and nice and noticed.</p><p>Instead, he only finds himself pushing back against Zacian’s thrusts, flesh meeting knot and cock distending his stomach slightly with each motion, and panting, voice audible until he feels the tip of Zamazenta’s cock press against his lips, warm pre-cum already dripping into mouth.</p><p>Naturally, he doesn’t mind—Zamazenta is his own Pokémon after all—when he begins carefully thrusting into his mouth, cock not even halfway in before withdrawing. It couldn’t fit entirely inside after all, not without pushing into his throat. His mouth is too small to fit everything inside, and Zamazenta, unlike Zacian, isn’t typically inclined towards roughness.</p><p>Instead, Victor, much like with Zacian prior, only brings his hands up to grasp at the length, hands once again unable to wrap entirely around it, before moving.</p><p>It isn’t a particularly comfortable position—both Zacian and Zamazenta are rather large, and the stone is uncomfortable as it slides against his back, body being pushed forward and back with each of Zacian’s thrusts—but they make do.</p><p>He likes the attention anyway: the messiness of everything, the physically of everything, and the warmth of everything. He likes the feeling of cum and sweat upon his body and the feeling of being filled and used and loved.</p><p>He doesn’t think it’s weird. It’s normal to want to feel wanted—to feel loved.</p><p>Another thrust, and he once again feels Zacian’s knot press against his ass. He almost wants to beg—noisy and breathless and incapable of words—but he can’t, not with Zamazenta’s cock still thrusting into his mouth, pre-cum spilling onto his tongue and down his throat.</p><p>It isn’t like he could do much now besides awkwardly and eagerly thrust back against Zacian’s motions and swallow the pre-cum and spit inside his mouth as his hands slide haphazardly upon a slippery cock, saliva spread further by his own motions and Zamazenta's own thrusts.</p><p> Though, it isn’t like he <em>wants</em> to do much else. He wants to be fucked and filled and bred like the bitches he sees on his mother’s farm.</p><p>That isn’t quite a normal sentiment—even he has to admit that—but he doesn’t quite care, not when he feels Zacian thrust once more, knot finally entering before swelling entirely and locking them together, and Zamazenta halts his own thrusts, length still inside Victor’s mouth.</p><p>It’s warm, comfortably and welcomely warm, when Zacian cums inside him, fluid mixing with spit and lotion and causing his stomach to swell lightly, and as he feels Zacian continue to rut—full knot rubbing against his insides and pulling, not enough to hurt them both but just enough to be considered pleasant.</p><p>He still couldn’t quite speak, not with the cock inside his mouth and his tongue pressed firmly against the underside of it. It makes his jaw sore and his eyes water—he still isn’t used to how it stretches his jaw, both bizarrely, paradoxically uncomfortable and comfortable—but he couldn’t do much but wait, awkwardly swallowing spittle and pre-cum as it trickles down his throat and breathing shallow.</p><p>Nonetheless, despite the awkwardness of everything, he finds himself moaning anyhow, noise muffled and vibrations pleasant around the cock in his mouth if Zamazanta’s own panting is of any indication.</p><p>Another thrust, cum warm and splattering against his prostate, and Victor finds himself cumming again, spurts short in comparison to earlier but no less pleasurable.</p><p>Even with Zacian finishes, orgasm lessening, the knot doesn’t deflate nor does he stop thrusting forward, tip still pushing repeatedly against his prostate and knot still pulling against slicked, messy walls.</p><p>The motions continue, hurried as always, even as Victor feels the knot begin to deflate and the stream of cum turn into a trickle before eventually stopping.</p><p>When Zacian finally finishes, pulling out with a wet squelch, Victor feels himself groan, noise audible as Zamazenta similarly withdraws—cock still hard and leaking.</p><p>They don’t quite switch places, not entirely.</p><p>Instead, Zacian moves away before turning and lying down, facing him and Zamazenta once more. Despite the laziness of the posture—it could be mistaken for leisurely apathy with how Zacian’s head lies atop his paws and the slight sway of his tail—Victor knows that he’s still agitated, aroused even. The keen interest in his eyes is enough to prove that.</p><p>Furthermore, he does this often enough anyhow, fucking first—firstborn’s right in some sense of the concept—before taking to the sidelines to watch his brother fuck him.</p><p>Nonetheless, whatever Zacian’s reason, Victor couldn’t say he minds, not when he feels the tip of Zamazenta’s cock press again his wet and gaping asshole—cum and spit and lotion still seeping onto the stone below—the tongue that affectionately licks at his cheeks, and the eyes gazing upon them both.</p><p>Zamazenta’s thrusts aren’t quite like Zacian’s, less aggressive yet no less enthusiastic. Instead, they’re slow, teasingly and intentionally slow, as his cock pushes forward, cum and saliva coating the length.</p><p>His cock isn’t quite like Zacian’s either—both noticeably thicker than a human’s with Zamazenta’s more so of the two and Zacian’s the longer one between them—but Victor doesn’t mind. Instead, he only pants, voice noisy and high once more, as he feels his ass stretch to accommodate the girth of Zamazenta’s cock.</p><p>It’s wet, overly so, as Zamazenta thrusts once more and as Victor moves along with his motions, back sliding against a now messy floor—spit and cum dirtying his back, butt, and thighs further.</p><p>Zamazenta leans forward, and Victor feels his tongue once again lick at his cheek before wetly sliding down and slipping into his mouth—still overly careful despite everything. Overly eager, Victor finds his hands seizing tightly onto dirty fur as his tongue pushes against Zamazenta’s.</p><p>Warm and wet, pleasantly so. That is how he feels as Zamazenta continues his thrusts, tapered tip pushing against an already filled, sloshing womb—he’s still satisfyingly full despite everything—and fur brushing against his bare skin.</p><p>Another noise leaves him as he feels Zamazenta thrust once more, cock meeting his prostate before rubbing once more and the warm heat of the knot pressed against his ass though not quite yet in.</p><p>It isn’t weird to like everything or to want everything, he thinks. Nothing bad feels good.</p><p>It’s warm, comfortably so in his opinion, when he feels Zamazenta pull back and thrust once more, knot pressing once again at his ass before forcing itself in with another wet noise, unbearably slow despite the quickness of the motion, and the now familiar feeling of being filled—cummed into.</p><p>He moans again—noise barely audible outside of the hum inside his head and the tongue in his mouth—and he’s certain that both his partners can hear him what with the way he feels Zamazenta jerk forward, tip digging once again into his prostate, and the light huffs he hears.</p><p>His grip tightens, nails digging into the flesh beneath, as he feels Zamazenta continue to thrust, gently pulling and knot rubbing against his walls much like Zacian’s had, and his tongue continue to move inside his mouth—rough texture pushing against the roof of his mouth, his cheeks, and against his own tongue.</p><p>Even when Zamazenta withdraws, saliva dripping, he doesn’t pull away entirely. Instead, Victor feels a snout push against his cheek, soft and affectionate and comforting.</p><p>Messy and breathless. He couldn’t describe himself as anything else at the moment, not with how he looks: soaked in sweat, saliva, and cum, stomach distended and unnatural on his slender frame, and with a cock knotted against his ass, fluid still pouring forward, mixing, and even seeping despite outward the knot. He couldn’t even describe his orgasm as much of one—too spent and too little in volume and more akin to a dry one than anything else.</p><p>When Zamazenta finishes roughly ten minutes later and pulls out, white cum gushing out and onto the stone with the motion, he leans forward once again to lick at Victor’s hair, messing up the strands further.</p><p>Victor runs a hand through Zamazenta’s fur, fingers gently untangling knots. Much like himself, both Zamazenta and Zacian would need to bath in one of the nearby rivers before they leave, and he himself would need to clean up everything at the altar. He already has the towels and disinfectant in his backpack.</p><p>He doesn’t particularly want to explain to anyone their current states of being—he doubts Hop would like Zacian returned in his current state, satisfied but unmentionably dirty—nor does he want to explain the state of the altar. Despite the Slumbering Weald’s notoriety, he knows people, namely Sonia and Hop again, visit.</p><p>He doesn’t want to have to explain everything later or to leave a mess.</p><p>But still, he isn’t particularly in a hurry today, not anymore anyhow.</p><p>Not when he feels Zamazenta settle next to him alongside Zacian, having trotted over soon after his brother had pulled out.</p><p>It isn’t particularly comfortable—floor too messy wit body sore and filled—when he pushes himself up to a sitting position and leans back against Zamazenta, once again taking the position of a makeshift pillow.</p><p>Nonetheless, he doesn’t especially mind, not entirely anyhow.</p><p>He doesn’t think it’s weird either.</p><p>It is only human to want more after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As a side note, you know I almost put spines on them before I remembered these weren't cats? I mean...they're fictional beasts, so I have leeway but like...overthinking...</p><p>Personally, I'm still critical of this, but perhaps someone will like it. I just can't be bothered to spend hours more on it...and I want a 4th of July release since I'm staying inside, and I thought putting it out on a holiday would be nice since I did the same for the Leon/Victor Christian blasphemy foot fetish one for Easter week...not even the 4th yet, but it is on AO3 time. Don't really care about the 4th, but dates...</p><p>Imo, I feel like Zacian is the more aggressive of the two—"eldest child rage" alongside having a really aggressive play style if you do competitive...honestly...also do you ever think what happens after all those "sexy" scenes in fics when it's like public stuff? I do, and I can never find it wholly titillating b/c I have to think about what happens after...who's cleaning it up...I'm fairly certain Hop and Sonia still visit to do research, and Victor's rather considerate if wholly bizarre...</p><p>I'm also about halfway done with my current project so that'll go up when that finishes...I'm doing that while I wait for FGO NA's anniversary...gotta roll Skadi to complete my major support Caster set and paid roll Assassin for Shuten/Jack...I'm fine w/ any of them except Osakabehime since I have her...but ah...I wanna roll Rider for Ozymandias and Achilles, but I can just wait until the freebie picks come around and Assassin is my weakest class...I have a JP account...it's just less filled out than my NA...Radiant Road is also incoming so my NP5 Artoria will be good...exciting...</p><p>Gonna get screwed over just as hard as Victor usually does in my fics...but less fun...gacha sucks...</p><p>Though the latest Twilight Wings episodes means I want to try my hand at making something awful...</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Victor is always an awkward child, isn't he? It really is weird no matter what he says.</p><p>I wouldn't take what Victor says at face value either. I think it's rather obvious that he's unreliable, but he is the wanting sort...envious and unable to articulate himself...</p><p>Though...this did end up more melancholic than I intended it to be at times, but I have never been a happy writer...hum...but really, it is a peculiar loneliness that eats at the soul. I just feel like a majority of the Pokemon protagonists are all lonely people inherently outside maybe Hilbert and Hilda since they have a bundle of friends and even then, it must be lonely at the top and sometimes, as cliche as it is to say, one can be lonely standing in a room full of people...</p><p>Though I did listen to Sakura Nagashi and a bunch of indie J-Rock songs on repeat while doing this so...hum...I'm still not satisfied with this, but it's whatever...honestly, I feel like I only show up to this fandom tag to curse it nowadays, but if I wants, I writes, just like a cat. It's everyone else's problem after I'm done. Whatever the case, I'm not particularly sorry for this whole fic or my AO3 portfolio.</p><p>Themes: Want, Connection, Loneliness, Envy</p><p>But really, my tags are always so weird when it's combined with the subject matters...but back to the Piers/Victor grind after this...I wanna do age swap and/or maybe a two oneshot duo piece with age swap! Piers/Victor and age swap! Leon/Hop...or that Eternatus/Victor/Leon fic I wanna do...or pregnancy sex kink...not actually my kink inherently since I prefer that w/ my original characters over canon characters, but I'm suddenly compelled to with Piers/Victor...ah...the Muses give, and they take...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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